


Between the Static

by pikasafire



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Porn, hockeybigbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a thing. It’s just a couple of straight guys watching porn together - that's not so weird, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Static

**Author's Note:**

> I... have no excuse for this. I’m pretty sure someone other than me is to blame, but I can’t remember who. Probably barefootstarz. And definitely masterpenguin82, (you annoying fucker.)

*

It started - as most disasters do - as a bit of a joke.

They’re sprawled out on Marc’s couch talking about porn and that’s nothing new; it’s a conversation that comes about every second day or so. Kris isn’t entirely certain how they still have shit to talk about, but he guesses they both kinda watch a lot of porn.

"I've seen your videos.” Marc complains, “They're tame as fuck."

They’ve had this argument about fifteen million times before. "Fucking is kind of the point."

"Yeah, but it's boring shit. Like, there’s gotta be some _variation_ there, y’know."

Kris rolls his eyes. "We can’t all be into beastiality and fisting."

Marc continues talking like he hasn’t even heard. "You've got the worst porn collection in the team. Even Jordy's got more hardcore vids than you."

It’s pretty much true. Kris doesn’t think his shit is _tame_ exactly, but he got a look at Jordy’s collection once, when he’d borrowed his laptop for three freaking seconds and Jordy hadn’t bothered minimising the porn before handing it over. Kris winces. There’s not enough brain bleach in the world to erase what he saw. "Jordy has three brothers.” He points out, “You can guarantee he's got weird shit."

"Point.” Marc tilts his head, considering, “Reckon Cookie's the weirdest. He’s into that fetish thing, y’know, with the... the _things_ ," Marc gestures vaguely at his crotch, looking ill. 

Kris shakes his head. "No way. Definitely Sid.”

“Wait. You’ve _seen_ Sid’s videos?” Marc stares at him, mouth agape. “Seriously?”

“What? No fucking way. He’s practically got it in a safe. You ever seen them?”

Marc grins, “Nah. It’s probably, like... goat porn. Or furry porn or something really messed up. There’s no other reason to not share.”

Kris just shrugs, takes a sip of his beer. “I don’t know. Some people think sharing porn is weird.”

That gives Marc pause, “Really? That’s just fucking stupid. Why would you buy everything yourself if you can borrow it from a friend? Porn’s _expensive_.”

“Because that’s definitely the first thing I think when I check my bank account.” Kris rolls his eyes, “You can afford your own porn, dude. You’re not exactly hard up.” 

“See if I lend you porn again then.” It’s the biggest lie ever. Marc always wants to talk about the porn he buys and Kris is really one of the only people who’ll watch the weird shit Marc’s into, so Kris ignores him completely.

“Didn’t you get a new set of DVD’s the other day?” He asks instead. “That new stuff from Sweden?”

“Yeah. Wanna see?” Marc digs through a pile of shit stacked up next to the couch, tossing the case at Kris’ head. “You’re not allowed to borrow it.” He reminds him, “Because you’re an asshole.”

“I’ll watch it here then, and jerk off all over your couch.” Kris says absently, glancing at the cover. “This has got to be better than the Japanese porn you bought last month.”

“I’m _cultured_ ” Marc says loftily, snatching the DVD back, “We’re not all godless heathens like you. Jesus, someone needs to show you some decent porn.” He opens the case, levering himself up from the couch, poking at the BluRay player until it spits the tray out.

“What are you doing?”

“Did you want to watch it or not?” Marc demands.

Kris shrugs, “Yeah, alright.” He figures they’ll watch, like, the first fifteen minutes, make fun of it and turn it off to watch _Red_ for the fifteen millionth time. The opening sequence is just like every bad porn film Kris has ever seen, and he’s seen a _lot_. “You’d think they’d put a little more money into making it seem like it’s less from the eighties.” He hands out a hand for the DVD case, “This isn’t actually from the eighties, is it? Because if it is, I’m going to have to seriously re-evaluate our friendship.”

“My taste isn’t _that_ bad,” Marc says, settling back in next to Kris. “It’s from, like, 2010, I think.”

Kris raises an eyebrow as the guy turns up on screen, overly hairy and butch, “Well judging by that moustache, it might actually be from the eighties. Plus, he looks like he’s gone five rounds with Engell.”

“Missin’ the point there, man.” Marc points out, “Which is the hot women.”

Kris just shrugs. They watch for another few minutes, watching the guy fuck a dark haired woman with tits that are clearly fake, making horrible guttural noises like a dying badger as he rams in, in a way that she seriously cannot be enjoying, “I don’t know.” Kris says eventually, “You have shit taste in women. They’re all... spray tan orange. It’s like watching Flyers fuck.”

Marc stares at him, looking ill. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands. “Why would you _say that_?” He hauls himself out of the chair, “ _Fine_. You’ve just ruined that DVD for me forever, I hope you know.” He sorts through the pile next to the DVD player. “I got one the other day that I haven’t seen yet. Borrowed it off Engell, so it should be good.” 

“He’s got better taste than you.” Kris agrees, watching as Marc swaps the DVDs.

The title sequence is just as bad, the same standard cheesy music in the background, but the guy actually looks decent and he walks on screen, slaps some blonde chick on the ass and yeah, okay, maybe Kris has a bit of a thing for that. He watches silently. His mouth feels kinda dry and he looks down, swallows and tries to school his breathing into something less obvious before looking up again. The girl's pretty hot, blonde hair and a chest that can _not_ be natural but is really fucking awesome either way. And this isn’t quite what he was thinking when Marc put the DVD in. He tries to search out something clever, some random comment he can make to diffuse the weirdness of watching actual _decent_ porn with his best friend. This is weird, right?

“You know, sometimes I wonder if they should have, like, decent storylines. Like, y’know, something that isn’t the pool boy, or the pizza boy, or whatever. We don’t even know _why_ they’re fucking.” It’s the best he can come up with.

Marc just gives him a look that says, quite clearly, that he thinks Kris is an idiot. “It’s _porn_ ” he says, “You don’t watch it for the fucking plot. Did you turn into a girl without me knowing? Did your dick drop off? Shut the fuck up and watch the porn, you’re being a boner kill.”

Which was kind of the _point_ , but Kris quiets down, lets his eyes focus on the sex on the screen and, wow, okay this is even more awkward. He watches the way the guy on screen grabs fistfuls of the woman’s ass, the red markings as he slaps the reddening skin. He tries to tune the noise out but he can’t help the way his skin heats a little, the tension in his stomach and the twitch in his jeans.

Well, fuck.

Kris shifts, bringing his knee up, subtly adjusting himself and tries to think of something to calm himself down. He stares at the numbers on the DVD player, counting with it - It's not working. He can still hear the groans from the tv, the wet, slick noises of fucking and his eyes are drawn back to it, and it’s _porn_ , okay? Of course he’s getting hard.

The trash talk is non-existent, both of them watching silently and Kris is feeling incredibly awkward, shifting a little so his hard on hopefully isn't nearly as noticeable as he knows it is. He adjusts again, resisting the urge to press down a little, just to take the edge off and curses his decision to wear jeans. It's not like he can laugh and ask to turn it off, not now when it's so obvious why he wants to stop. He'll just focus on something else and wait until it's over and hope like fuck he's not going to humiliate himself before it's finished. He shifts again, crossing his legs, a quick intake of breath at how the movement pulls the denim tight against his dick and he's hyper aware of his breathing, of listening to Marc breathing next to him, shallower and a little faster than normal. He can't stop himself from looking over, like seeking reassurance that he's not the only one. Marc's sprawled out, legs spread, his hard on obvious through his sweatpants, seemingly casual. His hands tell a different story, clenched on his thighs, almost white knuckled with tension and _that_ thought, that Marc is as turned on as Kris is, is almost enough to make him throw caution to the wind and shove his hand down his jeans.

Instead, Kris quickly glances away, tries to focus on the television. It's porn, okay? It's supposed to turn him on. They're just two guys watching straight porn and getting off on it. Nothing gay about that. After all, it'd be gayer if he wasn't hard, right? But, jerking off with his teammate right there? Kris is pretty sure that's going to be crossing some lines, so he takes a deep breath, keeps his eyes focused forward and recites hockey plays in his head. He wants to make a sarcastic comment to break the tension, but his throat is too dry to talk. This isn’t fair. They’re supposed to be watching some shitty, badly acted porn film with unattractive people that they can sit around and make fun of, not porn that’s _actually hot_ and his jeans really are getting very, very uncomfortable. He shifts again, knows that Marc knows he’s hard and, well, what the hell is he supposed to _do_ with that knowledge? It hurts, a throb in his jeans, so turned on it’s like torture and it’s everything he can do to not just press his palm to his cock.

He catches the movement out of the corner of his eye, short, sharp movements and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Marc’s touching himself, pressing his hand to the front of his sweats, and Kris makes a little noise in the back of his throat, can’t get his hand to the front of his jeans fast enough, except it’s _not enough_.

“Fuck this,” Marc says; it’s breathless and shaky. Kris can’t help but look over, the strange little drop in his stomach, the catch in his chest when he glances over and Marc's slumped so far down that his ass is practically off the couch, his eyes closed and his sweats around his thighs. The realisation that Marc's been wandering around all evening commando, the little wet spot on the front of Marc's sweats, It's enough to have Kris fumbling at his jeans, clumsy and rushed and when he finally, finally gets them down far enough to get his dick out, he's pretty sure he makes a noise he's going to be embarrassed about later. He hears Marc give a huffed laugh, feels the couch shift a little as he moves and Kris hadn’t been aware of the tiny distance between them before now, isn’t sure if he should move a little further away. Kris has to wonder if there are rules for this, like there are in the locker room. It's easy in there, the one cardinal rule: don't stare at another dude's dick. It's easy enough - they've all seen each other naked so many times that no one gives a fuck, but here - this is porn, okay? And dicks are involved, and it's kind of hard to _not_ to look when attention's kind of being drawn to it. With the jerking off and all.

He tries to keep his eyes straight ahead.

It doesn’t last long. He can't resist looking over again, but it's already pretty fucking gay, Kris is sure it doesn't count anymore and the way Marc's planted his feet, the minute movements of his hips, fucking into his fist with tiny jerks, it's hotter than anything on the television. Overwhelming _want_ hits him like a punch to the stomach, and Kris speeds his hand, can't look away, and the way Marc's moving, neither of them are going to last very long.

His breath catches in his throat and he wants so badly to move those few centimetres and _touch_ , just tightens his grip and watches Marc twist his hand, drop his head back, a little cut off noise in the back of his throat as he comes all over his stomach. It’s all Kris needs to push himself over the edge.

There’s silence for a moment as they sit there, catching their breath.

"Hot, right?" Marc says, grinning over at him.

"Yeah," Kris agrees, realising after he's said it that Marc is talking about the porn - of _course_ he's talking about the porn. Kris has no idea what was even happening on the tv, is vaguely aware that the movie’s still running in the background.

Kris shouldn't be surprised at how not awkward it is - Marc seems completely unbothered, reaching for the tissues on the side table, grabbing a few to wipe himself off and tossing the box to Kris. Marc drops the dirty tissues on the floor and hikes his sweats back up, flopping back against the sofa, "I'm hungry. Want some bacon?" he asks, and all Kris can do is nod, feeling a little like something momentous has just happened but he's not sure what.

But, It's not mentioned again. And after a week of obsessing over it, Kris decides to forget about it. It was just a one time thing, right? They don't have to talk about it. It's nothing weird. It’s not like he’s got a crush on Marc or anything. That would just be ridiculous.

*

They're hanging out a few weeks later, when it comes up again.

"Got a new movie." Marc says, the overly casual way he mentions it tipping Kris off to what kind of film it is, "Haven't seen it yet, we can watch that. If you want."

Kris laughs, trying to cover the way his heart starts to race, "Yeah. Alright. Hope the girl’s hotter than the last one."

“You and your fucking obsession with blondes,” Marc bitches as they head to the lounge. “I’m not changing my porn tastes to suit you.”

“We could watch _my_ porn.” Kris points out, trying for levity, anything to cut through the stilting tension between them.

“Your porn is shit. I’m sure we’ve talked about that before.” Marc messes with the DVD player for a moment, slipping the disc in and tossing the case at Kris.

He catches it, barely, and raises his eyebrow at Marc as he reads the title, “ _Tail Gate 3_.” he says, “Are you actually serious?”

Marc grins, grabbing the remote and flopping onto the couch next to Kris. “I’ve seen your porn, remember,” Marc reminds him, “Don’t even pretend you don’t have a thing for anal.”

Kris shrugs awkwardly. “Thought you weren’t catering for my tastes,” he says instead and Marc just laughs, ignoring him.

“Shh,” Marc says, mock-serious, “The movie’s starting.”

And Kris isn’t entirely sure how to shut up anymore, his leg jittering with nerves. “Should I have bought popcorn?” he mutters. The whole absurdity of the situation hits him like a ton of bricks, tense anticipation in his stomach has him getting hard before the movie even starts, the certainty of sex, the certainty of being able to see Marc jerk off again. And that’s probably not a very good sign. 

There’s less of the awkwardness this time, Marc shoving his sweats out of the way pretty much as soon as the movie starts, already half hard.

Kris tries to keep his eyes straight ahead, but it’s a losing battle. It’s not even like the porn isn’t any good, though to be honest, Kris isn’t entirely sure what’s happening on screen. He focusses on his own hand instead, shoving down his own sweats and pretending he’s on his own at home. It’s one of those things where he knows it’s not going to work, but what else can he do? He really, really shouldn't be thinking about his best friend like this, but it’s not like he can _help_ it. How is he supposed to think anything but obscenely dirty things when Marc’s next to him on the couch, t-shirt rucked up around his armpits, sweats around his thighs, fucking into his hand the way he is.

He forces his attention back to the screen, tries to focus on the porn. It’s the porn he’s finding hot, right? Not the fact Marc is jerking off next to him. Completely normal.

But then Marc’s moving in his peripheral vision, kicking his pants further down his legs, into a pile on the floor and shifting, pulling a knee up to his chest, slicking his fingers in his mouth, and _holy fuck_.

"Fuck," Kris manages, and Marc looks over. Kris doesn't have the blood left in his brain to do anything to hide the way he's staring, the way his eyes are fixated on the way Marc’s now fingering himself, the flexibility of his limbs. And it seriously only takes about a minute of watching how Marc’s fingers disappear into his body, the curve of his hand, the way his mouth is wet and open, until Kris is coming all over his fist, breathing hard. A few seconds later and Marc follows, shoving his fingers in tight, jerking his cock with his free hand, a low little groan as he comes. Silence for a moment and Kris can’t stop himself from staring, even as Marc removes his fingers, wipes them casually on his t-shirt and bends to slide his sweats back on.

"Hot shit, right?" He asks, once they’re both settled back against the couch, tired and lazy.

"Yeah."

They both know neither of them was watching.

*

It becomes routine when they're hanging out and bored, they'll put on some porn, and jerk off, neither of them paying much attention at all to the TV and definitely not talking about it afterwards.

It suits Kris. He's pretty sure he hasn't jerked off this much since he was about twelve and discovered he _could_ and all he can focus on when he comes is the way Marc’s thighs tremble before he comes, the dip of his hip that Kris wants to bite.

But that doesn’t mean anything.

Hotel night. They're noisy and elated on the bus back to the hotel after a lucky win against the Rangers. The team heads to a bar near the hotel to celebrate, far enough from the Gardens that they won't get their faces punched in, a few beers before the ache of the night sets in, and Marc and Kris stumble back to their hotel, more tired than drunk.

"Fuck, winning makes me horny." Marc announces, flopping onto his bed, still in his suit, pressing his palm to the bulge in his pants.

Kris laughs a little awkwardly, kicking off his shoes, stripping off his jacket and unbuttoning his suffocating shirt, "Drinking makes you horny."

"Mm, that's true too. We should watch some porn."

"Yeah," Kris agrees, sitting on the edge of his own bed, not looking away from the way Marc's still touching himself through his pants. "Didn't bring any though. And we got shit from Coach last time we ordered it. You should've picked up a girl at the bar."

"Real girls are too much work."

Kris shrugs, carefully doesn't look at him, hopes the redness of his cheeks isn't visible from across the room, "So just jerk off then, I don't care."

Marc hums a little in agreement. "Is it weird without the porn?"

"No. It's not weird." Kris says, because he's pretty sure anything else will make Marc stop, "It's just like the porn thing, but in our heads or something. Like," he hesitates, "it's less weird if I do it too, right?"

"Yeah," Marc laughs, stilted, "It's not like we're jerking off _together_. We just happen to be in the same place at the same time. Like, we're road roomies. It's practically in the code or... something."

It's sounding ridiculous and uncomfortable, but the conversation already has Kris' blood pumping, heat curling in his stomach. Marc's not moving though, staring at him from across the room, hand still resting on his dick through his pants. First move then. Okay. He mimics Marc's earlier movement, palming himself through his pants. He's not completely hard yet, but with the way Marc's watching him, it won't take long.

He's barely been touching himself for a full minute before Marc speaks. "You should take your suit off," he says, still staring. "I mean, you don't want to get jizz on that. You have to wear it tomorrow."

There's something happening below the surface, bubbling between them, but Kris isn't certain, anticipation and nervousness and he's not sure what it is. "Yeah," he says, and his voice is rougher than he means it to be. "You too."

It's reminding him of those games he used to play as a kid, the kind of 'you show me yours' kind of childish play with the children down the street, but with that terrifying uncertainty of being a teenager again. He has no idea what he's doing, but his hands move of their own accord to undo the rest of his shirt, untucking it and shrugging it off his shoulders. He can feel Marc's eyes tracking his movements as he drapes his shirt over the end of the bed, unbuttoning his trousers and pushing them off his hips. He's left in just his boxers and socks and he sits back on the bed, wishing there was a more attractive way to remove socks. Marc's still dressed, just watching.

"Clothes," Kris reminds him, feeling self-conscious as he stares. Marc's slimmer than he is, all long muscle and smooth skin, and Kris can't help the way his eyes trace the lines of Marc's body. He's seen him naked hundreds of times, but he's never had permission to _look_. There's a scar on the front of Marc's right hip that Kris has never noticed before, dipping below his underwear, and Kris has never wanted to touch something so badly before in his life. This whole thing is such a bad idea, but it doesn't quite stop him from rubbing at the front of his boxers, watching as Marc finishes undressing.

Marc meets his eyes, and for a moment, it's awkward, Marc sitting on the edge of his bed so they're facing each other, knees not quite touching but only a few inches between them.

"Thinking of porn, right?" Marc says,

“Yeah.”

It’s uncomfortable, but not enough to stop Kris from getting hard. He focuses on his own hand, the rules of porn etiquette not quite fitting here, and it’s almost frustrating, the way his mind immediately jumps to the way Marc looks where he’s jerking off, trying to resist the temptation to just open his eyes and watch.

"What are you thinking about?"

Kris is pretty sure talking while jerking off is against the code, but who really knows. He can’t tell him the truth, _the way Marc pulled his knee to his chest_ so he fumbles for an answer, “That porn we watched the other week.” he lies, “With the red-head.” _Marc fingering himself, back arched_.

“Fuck, yeah. She was hot.” They continue like that, the only noise in the room the slick sound of jerking off. It seems like eons, heavy breathing, wet noises, the occasionally shaky sigh.

"Lube?" Marc asks, his voice is kind of strained, face flushed.

"Um, yeah." Kris hopes he doesn't sound nearly as breathless as he thinks he does. "Just-" he leans, stretching over the end of the bed to reach for his toiletries bag. He's forgotten the lack of space between them until his foot brushes against Marc's thigh, and Marc makes this _noise_ , choked and desperate and Kris freezes, but Marc's not pushing him away. The knowledge has blood surging to his dick so fast he feel dizzy and he fumbles around for the bag with urgency, dumping the contents on the floor in a hurry to find the travel bottle of lube he always carries.

He's careful to keep contact when he moves back, sitting just on the edge on the bed. It hasn't escaped his notice that Marc's done the same, close enough now that their knees press together. "Give me your hand," Kris murmurs, and he's not sure what makes him do it, reaching over to wrap his fingers around Marc's wrist, the one he's jerking himself with, and Marc freezes, looks up at him, his eyes wide and dark, and for a second, Kris is certain that Marc's about to kiss him. "Lube," Kris says, heart hammering. He pulls Marc's hand toward him, turning it so it's palm up and Kris can see the glisten of precome on Marc's fingers, wants so desperately to suck them into his mouth, but too terrified to make a move. What if he's misreading this? He squirts a decent amount of lube on to Marc's palm, releasing his wrist. "There." he says hoarsely, more to break the tension than anything else, because if he doesn't, he's going to do something stupid like grab Marc's dick himself.

Kris smears some lube on his own palm, slower than normal, overly aware of Marc's eyes on him as he goes back to jerking himself off.

It's good like this, Kris can feel the way Marc moves, the bump of their knees together, watching each other openly. Kris is pretty sure this is the exact definition of jerking off together, and he's 98% sure that there's a _lot_ gay about this but he can't bring himself to care. It’s feeling the way Marc’s knee jerks against his as he comes, seeing the stupid face he makes, the little desperate whine just before he spills over his fist. It’s the way Marc’s face is flushed red, the way his mouth is wet and open, eyes fixated on Kris’ own hand. 

“C’mon, Kris.”

And it’s more than a little humiliating that it’s Marc’s voice like that, strung out and rough that pushes him over the edge, moving his fist a little faster, trying to smother the noises as he comes all over his hand. And then it’s just the two of them, breathing hard, carefully averting their eyes.

Kris doesn't want things to be weird, so he reaches over, grabbing a handful or tissues from the side table before throwing the tissue box over, searching for the words to make it not-awkward. "Feeling better?" he asks sarcastically.

Marc looks up, gives him a stupid, dorky grin in reply. “Much.”

*

It becomes another habit, the porn forgotten. They share a room on the road, maybe head out for a drink with the guys after a game and then forego the girls in favour of going back to their room, and jerking off. Together.

Kris has no idea what they're even doing anymore. It's something they don't talk about. What they're doing is weird; they both know that, but if Kris were to say something, they'd have to _acknowledge_ it was weird, and then it would stop. And that's just not a risk Kris is willing to take. He's not stupid; he knows he's treading on thin ice. Fucking around with your best friend isn't the best idea on a good day. But fucking around with him when you really, really want to suck his dick? Worst. Idea. Ever.

But, It's okay, right? He thinks Marc’s hot. So do lots of people. It’s no big deal; It's not like he's in love with him or anything.

They're in Washington. Third away game in a row, hotel tonight, and Kris's stomach knots at the thought. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this and the tension is enough that he doesn’t even really feel the sting when they lose in overtime.

“We’re going out, “ Jordy says, grabbing Kris’ arm when they get back to the hotel, “And you’re coming.”

“But-”

“No excuses!” Jordy says over Kris’ protests, “You and Flower are always holed up in your freaking room. Stop being lame and come out with us. Even _Sid_ comes out more often than you guys these days.”

Kris can’t help the little stab of guilt at that. “Yeah, alright.” He says, “Can I at least grab another shirt?”

“Nope,” Jordy says cheerfully, tugging him back down the hotel corridor. “I don’t trust you to come back.” Kris finds himself manhandled out of the hotel and marched down the sidewalk before he can form another protest. And it’s not like he doesn’t _like_ going out with the guys. It’s always a whole lot of fun and it’s probably a good idea to maybe remind himself that staying in with Marc all the time and fucking around might seem like a really, really good idea now, but it’s not going to end well.

Besides, they can always just have a few drinks and then go back afterwards and fuck around then. 

It’s the standard night out with the boys. Sid sits quietly in the corner of the booth, laughing hysterically with Geno and Flower, while Kris sits with Engell, Cookie and Jordy, the jokes getting cruder as the night goes on.

“I think I’ll head back,” Kris says after he thinks he’s been there long enough to get away with bailing out. “But, I’ll catch you guys tomorrow morning.”

Jordy grabs his arm as he stands, “No way. We’re actually starting to forget what you look like, you stupid fucker. Sit the hell down.” and Kris stops, hovering between sitting and standing, unsure of what to do now.

“What the hell do you and Flower even _do_ in your room? You’re both like fucking hermits.” It’s Engell who speaks, rolling his eyes.

Kris doesn’t blush, he _doesn’t_.

“We watch a lot of porn,” Marc pipes up, his face flushed from the alcohol, eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome to join us, Jordy. But, I don’t think there’s enough dick in it for your tastes.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ve _seen_ your porn. You seriously have some of the _weirdest shit_ I’ve ever seen. And I have three brothers.” 

The table descends into bickering and chirping and Kris meets Marc’s eyes across the table. Marc shrugs, a kind of ‘what can you do?’ gesture and so Kris sits back down, accepts the shot that Jordy presses into his hand. “Drink!” Jordy demands. And Kris is kind of out of choices. 

Kris is pretty sure, three hours later, that he’s drunk much, much more than he was supposed to. Though, in comparison to Marc, he’s definitely more capable of walking in a straight line.

"So. You should jerk me off," Marc says, leaning heavily on him as they stumble back to their rooms

"Huh?" Kris can't have heard right.

"Yeah," Marc says decisively, "it'll be just like jerking off, but, like, not me. It'd just be helping a buddy out, right?"

Kris has had a lot to drink but he's pretty sure this shouldn't be a conversation for the hallway. Or ever. But the thought’s in his head now, and he wants to _so_ badly. He fumbles with their key, waiting until they’re inside and the door is closed before answering.

“You’re drunk.” Kris says instead. Because it’s true.

“Not that drunk.” Marc scowls, flopping back on Kris’ bed, “Not drunk enough that I can’t get it up.”

Kris watches him for a moment, helpless. That wasn’t what he meant and he should say no. They’ve both had a lot to drink.

“Come on.” Marc whines, kicking his foot out and catching Kris in the knee. “Get over here.”

This is a really fucking stupid idea, but Marc’s already tugging at his jeans, and Kris is a good person but he’s not a fucking saint and so he goes, kneeling at the end of the bed, watching Marc fumble with the button on his stupidly tight pants. “I don’t know,” Kris says again, even as he reaches out, fingers as clumsy-drunk as Marc’s, trying to help him get them undone. Marc’s fingers drop away, hips arching a little, because, yeah, that’s the hard line of his dick through his jeans that Kris is inadvertently touching. Kris freezes, can’t resist pressing down a little, listening to the high pitched whine in the back of Marc’s throat

“C’mon, Kris.” Marc pulls at the hem of his shirt, wriggling so he can tug it over his head without sitting up, his hair sticking up every which way. He throws the shirt blindly onto the floor, reaching out to pill Kris closer.

Kris is pretty sure there’s no blood left in his brain to protest and he nods, lets Marc tug him up so he’s on hands and knees over him, Marc’s fingers pulling roughly at Kris’ collar, shirt over his head. “Better.” Marc mutters, running his hands down Kris’ sides.

Kris drops his head, takes a breath. He really, really shouldn’t be doing this, but he already knows he’s going to, so he closes his eyes, tries to memorise the way Marc feels underneath him, the way his fingers dig into his skin, trying to pull him closer.

There’s about fifteen things he wants to do first, but Marc’s impatient, not letting him do anything at all, yanking Kris down against him, shoving their hips together, rubbing himself shamelessly against Kris’ body. “C’mon you stupid fucker.” Marc says, pushing his hands between them, groping Kris through his jeans and _holy shit_ this is a thing that’s happening.

All ideas of protesting goes out the window and Kris shifts as much as he can, fumbling with the button on his jeans, kicking them off as fast as humanly possible, and _fuck_ he’s naked right now. With Marc. And they’re going to … have sex, or _something_ , Kris doesn’t really care, as long as Marc keeps touching him, there’s no way this is going to be a bad thing. He’s only got a few seconds grace before Marc’s grabbing at him again, pressing their bodies back together and arching up against him.

Skin on skin, the hard, hot press of Marc’s dick against his own. Kris is pretty sure if he doesn’t kiss Marc sometime in the next five seconds, he’s going to die, but that’s a line that he _can’t_ cross and so he drops his head against Marc’s shoulder, presses his open mouth to the curve of his neck. It’ll have to be enough. He pushes his hips forward and it’s uncoordinated and awkward, too dry to be perfect but Kris doesn’t want to pull away to find lube, what if Marc changes his mind? So they stay like that, rubbing off against each other like teenagers, and Kris isn’t going to lie, it’s _really fucking hot_ for about eight million reasons that he’s trying hard not to think about if he doesn’t want to shoot his load in about five seconds.

And it doesn’t take long before Marc’s shifting beneath him, head thrown back, eyes closed and brow furrowed, skin slightly tacky with sweat. There’s a flush creeping its way down his face and neck, his fingers tightening on Kris’ shoulders. It doesn’t take a genius and Kris shoves forward a little rougher, feeling the coil of tension in his stomach, the build up that he knows means he’s not going to last much longer. Marc’s breath catches in his throat, his hips stuttering as he comes, warm and wet between them and that thought, the knowledge that Marc just came and Kris was the _cause_ is enough to have Kris clutching at the sheets by Marc’s head, burning his face in his neck as he shudders through his orgasm.

There’s silence between them, a clumsy hand patting Kris’ shoulder, a slurred, half asleep, “Awesome. Thanks, man. Much easier than picking up chicks, yeah?” and then a few minutes later before Kris can muster up the energy to reply, the quiet snore that means Marc’s fallen asleep.

Kris uses the last of his energy to pry himself upright, staggering the few steps to his own bed. He has no fucking idea what that whole thing was even about, but the alcohol and the sex is catching up with him and he can’t be fucked showering, so he wipes himself off with the corner of his sheet, crawls under the covers, and goes to sleep

*

He thought it was a one time thing. They were drunk, they can brush it off, and so when Marc climbs into bed with him in the morning, pressing his morning wood against Kris’ ass, Kris jumps.

“What the fuck, Marc,” he mutters into his pillows, “It’s early.”

“Wake up, fucker.” Marc says, pressing his cold hands against Kris’ side. “C’mon. We should fuck around. We’ve got, like, an hour before bus call.”

“Or, y’know,” Kris says, voice muffled, “We could sleep. Sleep is awesome.”

Marc shifts a little closer. “You know what’s more awesome?” He pauses, like he expects Kris is actually respond. “Sex. Sex is much more awesome.” There’s not really much Kris can say to that. It’s true, after all

“Your breath stinks.” He says instead.

Marc just grins, unrepentant. “I’m not asking you to _kiss_ me. But,” He raises an eyebrow and Kris’ heart stutters a little in his chest in a way that can’t mean anything good, “But if you want to put your mouth to work...” he trails off and Kris isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Kissing can’t be a thing. No. No way. Not if this is going to end well for either of them. But, on the flip side. Well. It’s not like Kris has been _thinking_ about it or anything, but sucking Marc off isn’t really something Kris is going to consider a hardship right now. The suggestion at least is enough to stir his interest in more than one way, and so he groans, flops over onto his back.

“Is this going to be a thing?” He asks. He blames the stupidity of the question on that fact it’s _really fucking early_ and he’s still half asleep, but now the words are out, it’s not like he can take them back.

Marc just shrugs, not quite meeting his eyes. “It can be a convenience thing, right? Girls are a bitch to try and pick up on the road. We can just... fuck around, right? Is that weird?”

“No, it’s not weird.” Kris says automatically. There’s not a single thing about this situation that _isn’t really fucking weird_ , but Kris isn’t exactly going to let something like that stop him. “We can do that.” Marc’s still staring a little to the right of Kris’ head, and so he adds, “Girls are too much work on the road.”

It works and Marc grins, “Right? We’ll be saving time. Not to mention all the money on drinks.”

“Exactly. It makes sense.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the awkwardness of the situation actually settling in. Marc shifts, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. Closes it.

“So,” Kris says, more to break the silence than anything else, “Did you want that blowjob?”

*

It’s totally cool. They’re just fuck buddies. That happens sometimes, right? It’s nothing. Kris has this whole situation totally under control. Just him and Marc, fucking around. 

Except he really, really wants to kiss him.

*

It’s only been a few weeks. It doesn’t mean anything that Kris now knows Marc’s sleeping positions better than he knows his own. It’s not like he watches him sleep like some sort of weird ass Edward Cullen kind of stalker, it’s just that they share a room on the road.

It’s nothing weird that Kris’ house has suddenly gained a whole host of Marc’s shit, and Kris isn’t entirely sure when this road trip situation turned into something that they did at _home_ , but that’s just natural progression of fuck buddies, right? If Marc goes out with old friends and comes back to Kris’ instead of his own house, well, it’s no harm done. And sometimes it’s just too hard to pick up, and Kris doesn’t mind. Really. It’s not so weird that Kris has Marc’s cereal in the cupboard, that Kris knows that Marc always takes the side of the bed closest to the window.

Kris takes a breath. He’s not in love with Marc. He’s _not_.

And if he keeps reminding himself, maybe it’ll be true.

*

He's imagined this moment. He’s been expecting it to be momentous. Horrifying. Life changing. Any number of terrible or glorious adjectives. He's not expecting it to be as they're brushing their teeth in a hotel bathroom, a few weeks later, Marc leaning over Kris to reach for his toothbrush, and Kris kisses him.

It's an awkward angle and they both freeze, mouths pressed together and then Kris pulls away, "Fuck, sorry." because he didn't mean to do that, he wasn't thinking and what else do you _say_ when you've just sort-of-accidentally kissed your best friend?

Marc gives an unsteady laugh, grabs the toothpaste and focuses on putting it on his toothbrush. "S'fine, don't worry about it." he says uncomfortably, giving brushing his teeth his entire focus.

“Okay.” But it hangs between them, heavy and awkward, and they exchange the least amount of words possible, Kris’ stomach sinking with every silent minute.

They don’t really talk as they leave the hotel and Kris sits with Sid on the train home, which isn't that weird, but Marc gives him a bit of an odd look.

"You and Flower are being weird." Sid informs him, as they play Medal of Honor on PSP, "Like, weirder than normal. Did you guys break up or something?"

Kris is so startled by the question that he doesn't see Jordy's character creeping up on his own until he's been shot in the head? "Fuck you, Staal." Kris shouts down the train before turning to Sidney. "What? We're not dating. What the fuck?"

"How is it _I_ have the media reputation for being emotionally stunted?" Sid rolls his eyes, thumbs still punching the buttons furiously, trying and failing to avoid the gunfire. "Fuck!" He puts his PSP down, waiting for the next round, "Whether you say it or not, you guys are dating. I haven't seen either of you in weeks. You're always, like, locked up in your hotel rooms on road trips."

"We're both guys. Neither of us is gay. And we're teammates." Kris is aware he sounds defensive. "We're just friends. Don't be weird."

"So you're dating without sex. Whatever. You're still dating. You guys make Keith and Seabrook look like they're not codependent at all."

"Whatever." Kris mutters, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. "Next round’s up," he says, picking up his PSP and hoping that's the end of it.

But now he's thinking about it. Marc said _it's fine_. Does that mean fine that it happened? Fine if it happens again? Did he just fuck everything up completely? It seems weird that Kris’ had Marc’s dick in his mouth, but a close mouthed kiss over the bathroom sink is crossing the line into ‘too intimate’. His mind isn't on the game at all, and he's glad that it's a short train ride because he's playing like shit.

"Congratulations!" Marc says, slapping Kris’ back on the way off the plane, "Fifteen kills in half an hour. That's some sort of record, man." He gives Kris a little bit of a smile, knocks their shoulders together.

"Fuck you." Kris mutters, but his muscles loosen a little at the contact and there's the little kernel of hope at the bottom of his stomach.

Marc’s around for dinner that night, and it’s become such a routine that Kris has pulled out two servings out of the freezer to heat before he’s even thought about it; Marc’s around more often than not these days.

“So.” Marc says lightly, after a stupidly long silence, “You kissed me this morning. What the fuck was that all about?” He’s aiming for humour and hitting awkward.

It’s startling enough that Kris almost slips with the knife he’s using to cut tomatoes. He keeps his eyes focussed on what he’s doing, overly aware of the way his cheeks are burning. "I just like kissing," he says defensively. "I just forgot who you were for a moment, that's all."

Marc shrugs, looking uncomfortable, and busies himself with finding cutlery in the mess of Kris’ top drawer, not meeting his eyes. "I mean, We could. If you wanted. Like, I don't mind or anything. It'd be-" he hesitates, shrugs. "Alright."

Kris turns around, certain he misheard, "Alright?"

"Shut the fuck up." Marc snaps, flushed.

Kris hesitates, the dreaded words on the tip of his tongue. _What are we doing_?

Marc speaks first, talking to the forks in his hand more than Kris. "Look. I'm not gay."

"Me neither." This has got to be the most uncomfortable conversation Kris has ever had in his entire life. Including that one time his parents caught him with his hand up Elodie Momon’s skirt. 

"Y'know. Just so you know. We're just... Messing around, right? And, we’re friends. Kissing can be part of that without it being weird, right?”

Anything to make sure they don’t _stop_. "Yeah. Of course." he says, though his heart sinks a little.

“Cool.” Marc looks over at him, gives him a hesitant smile, “We can stop talking about this shit now, right?”

Kris laughs, a huff of relief, “Oh, _God, yes_.”

*

It’s just friends with benefits.

Except it's more like dating.

Kris is pretty much screwed. It hits him a few weeks later, stumbling half asleep into the kitchen one morning. He stops at the coffee maker, cracks an eye open enough to pour himself a mug without causing third degree burns, and slumps against the counter.

He looks over where Marc’s laughing at him silently, his eyes focussing on the little red mug in his hand. It’s unfamiliar and Kris frowns. "What's that?"

Marc looks startled. "What’s what? My mug?"

"Yeah."

"It's... my mug? I bought it round a few weeks ago. All yours are too big. It gets cold before I finish it."

This makes sense, but Kris frowns, brain ticking slowly. "You could just half fill the mug, you know."

"Or I could use my own mug." Marc grins and holds it up with a nod, "Santé," he says, taking a mouthful of hot coffee.

The realisation is like a punch to the stomach, leaving him breathless and dizzy. They're _dating_. Marc smiling at him, messy and half dressed in the kitchen, bed head and pyjama pants sitting so low on his hips they should be illegal and Kris can't help himself, darting forwards to kiss him and that’s not how this is _done_ , there’s no kissing when sex isn’t on the cards, but Marc’s just kissing him back, curling an arm around his back and pulling him closer.

He loves this stupid fucking idiot. Kris doesn’t even know if Marc realises what's happening yet and he definitely has no clue what the fuck to do about it.

But, It’ll be fine. Kris can live like this, right? This kind of pseudo not-dating. Marc will cotton on to it one day and maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe he already knows and this is like the porn thing all over again. They’re just not going to talk about it because it is what it is and who the fuck needs to label things anyway? 

*

He should know by now that things this good never last.

They’re in the locker room after a shitty loss against the Flyers, tense and quiet and Kris is wandering around trying to find where Cookie hid his shoes and he’s just heading over to ask Marc when Nealer gets there first.

“Oi, Flower. Where’s your better half?”

Kris opens his mouth to tell Nealer that he’s standing right behind him, fucking _hell_ , but Marc’s already talking.

“What are you talking about?” he demands, pulling at his pads with more force than strictly required.

“Tanger,” Nealer clarifies, with a raised eyebrow, “Y’know, your wife? The dude you practically live with?”

“We’re not together.” Marc says, glaring down at his gear and it’s the tone, the _what the fuck_ attitude, tinged with irritation that gives Kris pause.

“Ooookay,” Nealer says slowly. “Do you know where he is?”

“I’m not his babysitter either.”

“Right.”

Kris ducks back into the showers, the tiled area with the sinks and mirrors and clenches his teeth. It’s _stupid_ to be upset. He knew this could happen. It’s fine. They’re not really together after all, it’s nothing personal.

“Oh, hey. I was looking for you.” Nealer says, as he pokes his head through the doorway, “What the fuck is with Flower?”

Kris forces himself to shrug. “Nothing that I know of. It’s not like we’re together.” and it would be more convincing if it weren’t for the way his voice breaks a little. He curls his hand into a fist, and takes a deep, even breath.

Nealer’s staring at him, looking concerned, “Look, man, it’s none of my business so tell me to fuck off or whatever but, are you okay?”

“Fucking hate the Flyers.” He says, and he knows its a little non-sequitur but hopes it’s vague enough that Nealer stops prying, will chalk Kris’ attitude up to the loss.

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re real assholes.” he says, he slaps Kris on the shoulder. “We’ll crush them next time, right?”

“Yeah. Next time.” Kris echoes, staring at himself in the mirror.

It’s just a bad loss. Marc’s probably just in a bad mood. Things are fine, right?

*

Things are weird.

Kris isn’t exactly sure what the fuck is going on, he’s got no idea what started it but he hasn’t seen Marc in almost three days. He types out a message on his phone, a quick, _/hey hope u havent fallen into a well. want to come round 4 dinner?/_ , and lets his thumb hover over the ‘send’ button for a moment.

Is it pathetic? Is this some weird asshole-ish way of Marc telling Kris he’s done with him?

He deletes the message.

*

The next hotel night, a few days later, Marc doesn’t come back to the room.

Kris turns down Geno’s invitation to the movie night in his and Sid’s room, curls up on his bed with his laptop and tries desperately to not feel sorry for himself.

Marc slinks in at about 3am, messy and grinning and smelling like sex and it’s such a fucking cliché that Kris wants to punch him in the face. He settles for pretending to be asleep instead, trying not to feel like he’s been horribly betrayed. They’re not together, Marc can fuck whoever he likes. The fact he hasn’t fucked anyone else for _months_ is kind of beside the point, right?

It doesn’t really make him feel any better.

He listens to Marc get ready for bed, stumbling about in that overly noisy way that Kris knows means that Marc’s had a few drinks. He lies there, pretending to sleep as he hears Marc slide into bed, pretends he can’t hear when Marc whispers across the room.

“Kris? Are you awake?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, body tense under the sheets, hands curled into tight little balls. He has no idea why this suddenly became something so overly complicated when it started as something so simple, but he knows that right now, with Marc smelling like perfume and sex, he couldn’t give a fuck about what he has to say.

*

The thing is, Kris isn’t very good at pretending.

It’s not late when he gets home from the road-trip, alone in his empty apartment and so when the doorbell chimes, he can’t help but hope it’s Marc’s stupid fucking face to apologise and grovel and Kris knows he’ll forgive him, even though Marc’s been a total fucking tool.

Except it’s Sid on the doorstep.

“Uh, hey.” Kris says. It’s not weird as such that Sid’s turned up. Sid’s his friend after all, but Kris can’t really remember the last time anyone but Marc was over.

“Hey, can I come in?”

There’s no reason to say no, and, to be honest, Kris has gotten pretty used to having company; doesn’t like the echoing noises of his apartment. “Sure. Want a beer?”

“Water, please.” Sid says with a smile, trailing Kris into the kitchen.

“I would have thought you’d’ve gone straight to Mario’s.” Kris says. It’s a leading question, but Sid’s not really known for his social visits.

“Flower sat next to me again on the plane today.” Sid’s not really known for his subtlety either. “He hasn’t done that in ages. What happened between you guys? Are you fighting?”

“It’s nothing.” Kris says stiffly. “Just- ” He trails off. He doesn’t _know_. It wasn’t a fight. He doesn’t even know _what_ it was that suddenly made Marc act like he was allergic to Kris. “It’s nothing.” he repeats instead, hoping it’s enough to make Sid drop it.

Sid looks at him disbelievingly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need more than that. You guys have been freaking inseparable and now you won’t even look at each other.” He pauses. “Flower asked me last night if I’d swap rooms with him.”

Kris tries to swallow through the lump in his throat, stares down at the kitchen bench. What the fuck did he _do_? “Oh.”

“I said no,” Sid says, like that’s supposed to be reassuring, “I told him he needs to sort this shit out with you.” There’s an awkward pause. “Do you want to talk about it?”

What the hell is he supposed to say to that? _Well, we started watching porn together, then started fucking around and then I kind of fell in love with him. Whoops?_ “I don’t know,” Kris says, “I really don’t. He just... stopped talking to me. I don’t know what I did.”

“You can’t think of anything you said? Or someone else might have said?” 

“Nothing.” Kris shrugs, “Nealer called me Flower’s wife the other week, but, he’s been doing that for years and it’s never been a problem.”

Sid hesitates, “You guys are... together, right?”

“No!” The denial’s a little too hasty and Sid raises an eyebrow, disbelievingly. “What would make you say that?”

Sid rolls his eyes, “You know, I know everyone seems to think I’m an idiot, but I’ve seen the way you guys, y’know, _look_ at each other.”

Well, this is a conversation he doesn’t want to be having with his Captain. “It’’s nothing.” Kris mutters, “We just fooled around a few times. It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

There’s a long pause. “You know what? I should call Max,” Sid suggests, “This is way out of my area of expertise.” 

Kris glares at him from across the counter. “Don’t you dare.” He already knows it’s a losing battle, even as the words leave his mouth. “Max is more trouble than he’s worth.”

Sid just grins, “That he is.” He says, like that’s the answer to Kris’ problems. “I’ll call him.”

*

Kris has had enough. Seriously.

It’s one thing to fuck around with Kris. It’s another thing to fuck around with Kris’ routine. He’s all over the place on the ice, missing easy passes, not seeing the checks coming, skating like shit.

It’s Marc’s fault. Obviously. Marc’s not playing much better.

Kris corners Marc in the locker room after the game. “What the fuck is your _problem_?” Kris isn’t really the most patient person, and really, this is just fucking rude. “What did I _do_?”

Marc won’t meet his eyes, “Nothing.” He mutters, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah. Real fine. The whole way you’ve been avoiding me and everything.” He lowers his voice, steps a little closer. “Is it about the... thing we’ve been doing. We don’t have to-”

“Fuck off.” Marc stands abruptly angry. “It’s got nothing to do with that.” He snaps, in a way that tells Kris it’s got _everything_ to do with that. It’s hard to storm off in pads, but Marc does a pretty good job of it and Kris quells the childish desire to go up behind him and push him over.

Fucking asshole.

*

Getting drunk is probably one of the more childish ways of dealing with this whole ‘not-breakup’. But, Kris isn’t sure what else to do and the echo in his apartment seems to be getting louder the longer he’s there. There’s music on in the background to try and cover up the silence, and he sits on the couch with a bottle of scotch, watching shitty action movies. He should put his phone away; the longer it’s in his hand, the more tempting it is to text Marc.

He lasts about fifteen minutes into the second Die Hard movie before his fingers start texting of their own accord.

_/it was just fuckn around. dont be such a girl about it. we wont do it anymore/_

_/it didnt mean anything/_

And then an hour later, when his phone’s been sitting there, aggressively silent.

_/stop avoiding me u asshole/_

He knows he’s not going to get a response, but it’s cathartic, and he’s had just enough to drink that it seems like a good idea to keep going. Sending little messages into the void. He wonders if Marc’s even reading them.

_/it was bc of sthing I did?/_

_/this is really fuckn childish man/_

And the last one, just before he passes out, slumped over on the couch.

_/Im sorry/_

*

Max calls him the next morning.

Kris isn’t sure when his love-life suddenly became a league problem. He knows Sid did it because he cares, but, seriously, _Max_? Sidney might as well have called Ovechkin, really made it something well publicised.

“Sidney tells me you’ve got trouble in paradise.” Max says as a way of greeting.

“I’m hanging up,” Kris tells him and proceeds to do exactly that.

Kris’ phone rings non-stop for the next three hours. And he should put it on silent, hide it in a drawer, but he does neither of these things and after the 443rd rendition of MmmBop (because Marc thinks he’s fucking hilarious), Kris caves. “ _What_ do you want?” He snaps down the phone line, “I will seriously fucking end you.”

“Don’t make me drive over there.” Max threatens in response, “Because I will, and then I’ll have to kill you. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“What do you want?”

“Sid called me-”

“You said.”

“Well,” Max says, obnoxiously cheerful, “Aren’t we delightfully passive-aggressive today?”

“I’m just not in the mood for your shit.” 

“Aggressive-aggressive then. Alright.” Kris can tell Max is rolling his eyes, “What the fuck happened between you and Flower?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Kris snaps. He doesn’t know why everything thinks he knows this shit. “He just stopped talking to me. I have no idea what his problem is.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

“I-” Kris is speechless and he flounders for a moment; what is he supposed to say to that? “What? No!”

“Don’t even think about lying about it, because I’ll be able to tell. I’m magic. Also, Flower told me a few weeks ago.”

“You’ve spoken to him then? Why are you asking me what the fuck his problem is? Did he tell you _why_ he’s suddenly all pissed off?”

“What is this? Middle school? I’m not passing notes between you guys.”

“Yeah, well, I tried talking to him. It went fantastically. And if you’re not calling to tell me what the fuck his problem is, then why the hell _are_ you calling?”

“Because there’s only so much Giroux and Briere drama one person can take?” Max suggests. “This is so much more refreshing than a middle aged sexual identity crisis.” A pause, “Though I’m seeing some similarities. The text messaging last night for one.”

“So he got them then?” Kris can’t help the sarcasm dripping from his tone, “I couldn’t tell. Y’know, with the lack of response and all.”

“Look. You guys have been fucking around, right? You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” It’s quiet, kind of sad and Kris deflates a little, the fight leaving him and he swallows hard a heavy pause that’s more than enough of an answer.

“Yeah.” He says, trying not to sound too much like he’s about to cry over it.

Max’s voice is quiet and somewhat soothing, “He’s just freaking out, alright?” Kris had forgotten that Max is actually capable of empathy and it doesn’t really do anything to make the lump in his throat any smaller.

“Could he do it a little less like he’s five?”

Max laughs, “Do you remember who we’re talking about here? Look, just let him pretend nothing happened. He’ll come around one day and probably go straight back into thinking that he can pretend you guys _aren’t_ dating, just, give him time.”

“Until when? Until the next time he decides to have a sexual-identity crisis? He’s not fifteen anymore, Max. I’m not going to just let him fuck off whenever he needs to, I don’t even fucking know, re-assert his masculinity or whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing right now.”

Max sighs, “Just. Let him come to you, alright? He will. He might not be ready to admit it, but he’s in as deep as you are.”

“Yeah?” Kris is a little humiliated at the hopeful tone in his voice.

“Well, judging by the fact I’ve talked to him more in the last two weeks than I have in the past year, and it’s all been about you and your disgustingly domestic lives, yeah, I’m sure.”

Kris laughs, and if it’s a little watery, neither of them mention it. “You’re the one who left us, remember. You could be experiencing this first hand. Front row seats, even.”

“Oh, fuck off.” There’s no heat to it, and the conversation steers to more generic topics. By the time Kris hangs up, he feels more positive about the situation than he has in days.

*

The doorbell rings a few days later. It’s almost midnight, and Kris frowns. It’s a bit late for visitors.

Marc’s not the last person Kris is expecting on his doorstep. But the way that Marc steps forward, slides his gloved hand around the back of Kris’ neck and kisses him? Yeah, that’s one of the things Kris sure as hell _wasn’t expecting_ when he answered the late night knock on the door.

Kris pulls away, “Whoa, okay. Uh. Hi.”

“Hi.” Marc smiles at him, steps into the foyer, crowding into Kris’ space and kissing him again, kicking the door closed with his foot.

“Wait.” Kris pushes at Marc’s shoulder, holding a hand out to keep him at distance. “Uh, want to explain what the fuck you’re doing right now?”

Marc just gives him that cocky grin, the one that he uses when he knows he’s fucked up and is trying to joke his way out of trouble. “C’mon. Would’ve thought it was self explanatory, eh?”

“You’ve been talking to Max, haven’t you? Is that what he told you to do? Because it’s not going to fucking work and I _told_ him that.” Kris turns his back, heads into the kitchen, assuming Marc with either follow or let himself out. He’s not sure which one he’d prefer right now, now that the initial shock’s worn of, Kris remembers that he’s still _really pissed off_. 

“I haven’t been talking to anyone.” Marc says, a little more hesitant as he steps into the kitchen, his smile wavering a little. “I just thought I’d come around and see you.”

“And pretend that you haven’t been ignoring me for two fucking weeks? You gonna tell me what that was all about? Coz I gotta tell you, I have no fucking idea what your problem is.”

Marc shrugs, “Why do we have to talk about it,” he demands, aggression to cover up his discomfort, “I’m not some chick, alright? Can’t we just go back to the way it was?”

“I don’t even know what you’re _talking about_ ,” Kris snaps, and he knows his voice is louder than it should be, but he’s really sick of this shit. “Go back to being friends? Go back to fucking around? Go back to _dating_? Because that’s what we were _doing_ before you decided to throw your little temper tantrum.”

“I’m not gay, alright?” Marc says, heated, “I don’t know what the fuck you want from me.”

“You know the whole sucking dick thing? The whole fucking someone who’s got a dick? Yeah, that’s pretty gay, Marc.”

“It doesn’t count if it’s a teammate.” Marc says, his voice low and intense and he looks so desperate, so lost, that Kris sighs.

“We’ll go back to just being friends then.”

“No-” It’s automatic, and Marc looks startled, like he wasn’t quite expecting it out of his own mouth. He looks uncomfortable but doesn’t clarify.

Kris isn’t even sure what he’s supposed to do with that information. “So. What? I don’t even know why the fuck you stopped talking to me. You can’t just turn up after two _weeks_ of ignoring me, kiss me and then decide you don’t want to talk about it. What _do_ you want?”

“I want to go back to how things were two weeks ago. With us. Before the whole-” he waves a vague hand. “Is that enough? Look, can we just go fuck now? Can we stop talking about this shit?”

“You want to go back to two weeks ago? The sleeping over thing? And you eating all my cereal? And the kissing and fucking around? The being exclusive?” Marc shrugs. It’s as good as a yes and Kris wants to slap him, wants grab his shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattle in his head, screaming ‘this is dating, right? You know that?’. He grits his teeth, “How do I know you’re not going to do this again? Because, this has been really fucking fantastic. I’m not really after a repeat performance.”

“I’m not gay.” Marc repeats, “And we’re not dating.”

“Is that it? Did someone tell you we were dating and for some stupid reason that needed two weeks of teenage girl freak-outs?”

“You did just then.” It’s sullen and childish. “It’s not like that. This is just more convenient than picking up girls, alright?

Kris takes a calming breath, tries to tell himself that this really isn’t freaking worth it. Even in his head, he knows it’s pointless. He can’t help having fallen for some _asshole_ who has the emotional range of a toddler. “Fine. We’re not dating. We’re just being exclusive and shit and _everyone else in the world_ thinks we are. But, we’re not. Okay? Better?”

Marc’s silent, staring at him, his expression unreadable. “I don’t-” He frowns, cuts himself off. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He says.

“You don’t have to know,” Kris sighs, and he’s not sure why he’s the responsible one in this stupid fucking relationship, “Just don’t be an asshole.”

“Can we go back to what we were doing? And I won’t fuck around with anyone else and we’ll do all the things we did before, but we just won’t call it dating, alright? I don’t want you to be my boyfriend. It sounds stupid.” 

It’s as close to an admission of dating that Kris is going to get, and it’s not the label, he really couldn’t give a fuck about that, but this is as close as he’s going to get to Marc admitting he _wants this_ and that’s enough for Kris. He smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

There’s a moment where Marc just kind of stares at him before a grin spreads across his face. “Yeah?”

“If you suddenly stop talking to me again like you’re in _third grade_ , I’m going to fucking rip your balls off, okay?” Kris knows he’s letting him off easy, knows that this is really only the first speed bump out of _hundreds_. But as Marc steps forward, reaches out hesitantly like he’s certain Kris is going to push him away, Kris steps into the kiss. He knows they’ll get there in the end.

*

THE END


End file.
